elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2004-04-24 05:43 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2004-04-24 05:43 pm
Floating into Light, Part Four
So, hi all, and here is the latest chapter. Looks like there will be one more.
Title: Floating Into Light, Part Four
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, mainly
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Esme disapproves of many things, and Sam discovers that he has no fear of heights.
Floating into Light
Part Four
Paladin Took tapped the shell of his egg in its cup irritably. “So now you’re telling me, Esme,” he grunted, messily breaking the top of the shell off, “that your son has gone missing as well?”
“I really don’t think that that has anything to do with Pippin’s vanishing into thin air,” Esme commented sourly, giving her brother a glare as she carefully stirred her tea. “It was more than past time that Pippin went home. It’s hard enough for Merry to learn all his new duties now that he is a tween, without having the distraction of a young cousin always about who only wishes to be amused.” If there was more to her reasoning than this, she had thus far kept it from, as far as she was aware, anyone else. Distasteful matters such as Frodo Baggins and his recent disreputable conduct really need not be discussed. Her judgment should be sufficient when it came to matters regarding her son.
“I sent Pippin home properly escorted by one of our most reliable drivers,” she continued sternly. “I can’t help it if he shakes him off at the inn, and goes off on his own. Merry is probably checking on some matter that needs his attention. It’s unfortunate that he’s forgotten to mention it to either his father or myself, but I’m sure he’ll have an appropriate explanation when we do see him.”
“Humph.” Paladin’s observation was clearly disbelieving. “Then you are telling me the fact that apparently Frodo Baggins has chosen to vanish at this same time on a walking excursion has nothing to do with the disappearance of your son or mine? A fine coincidence, I’d call it.”
“I have warned Merry to stay away from that worthless cousin of his,” Esme replied loftily, “so I fail to see the connection there. Pippin, of course, may be an entirely different matter.”
“Do you suppose that Frodo has gone off after Bilbo?” suddenly interposed Eglantine Took, “and taken the lads with him?” Her green eyes widened at the thought, and she suddenly clutched her husband’s arm tightly.
“No, Lana dear, don’t you fret,” Paladin’s voice was gentle as he lay a soothing hand on hers. “I’m sure it’s just lads’ nonsense. They’ll turn up soon enough. What could go wrong here in the Shire?”
Esme surveyed her brother and his wife with an annoyed expression. Too trusting by half, that’s what they were. And if there was one thing that she was sure of, it was that Frodo Baggins had a good deal to do with this matter of Pippin. At least Merry had more common sense than that. It was understandable enough that Paladin and his wife had come to Brandy Hall in search of Pippin when he had failed to return home. But Esme felt it was immaterial exactly why she had so summarily dispatched Pippin Took.
*****
Pearl wandered about the garden of Bag End, an early morning cup of tea in her hand. Daisy’s visit at breakfast had been, unfortunately, a hasty one. Her sister, May, had arrived at Number Three with the sunrise, apparently an unheard of event. Daisy had felt it only right to give fair warning that May was planning on conferring with their other sister, Marigold Cotton, regarding some sort of welcoming festivity in her honor. Pearl sighed, taking another sip of her tea, and noting, in an absent-minded sort of way, the exceptionally beautiful deep blue morning glories that wreathed the window of Frodo’s bedroom. She had had hopes that she would escape that sort of recognition, but evidently not.
Preoccupied as she was concerning the dreaded forthcoming social affair, Frodo’s gardens were definitely beginning to catch her eye. They truly were lovely, and so carefully tended. Almost as if they were meant as a gift to the master of Bag End, she mused, and then shook her head at her foolishness. She had heard of the Gamgees’ talent along those lines before, and the son certainly seemed to have his share of it.
Wistfully, she returned to the kitchen. She had found Bag End to be remarkably peaceful and warmly welcoming, for all that it was the home of her eccentric bachelor cousin. She really wouldn’t mind at all if Frodo turned out to be gone for quite awhile.
*****
The three travelers, who were walking up the road to Brandy Hall in the warm mid-morning sun had, each of them, their own reasons for dreading their arrival at that imposing destination. Frodo had them leave their camping gear in the cave, with the private hope that, if he was summarily dismissed by the Mistress of the Hall, at least he and Sam could spend the evening there and then be on their way back home. And if things appeared dodgy enough, he was even willing to include Pippin in his escape plans. All in all, that was not the worse scenario he could imagine. Moodily, he paid little attention to the verdant fields and orchards of the land where he had grown up, lush and ripe though they were in the early summer light.
Sam walked close by him. Frodo’s discomfort and anxiety were clear to him, and he fervently wished that whatever lay ahead of them was all over and they were on their way back to Bag End. But his gardener’s eye could not be denied, and he found the beauty about him humbling. No farm around Hobbiton was any larger than what one family, with perhaps a friend or two, could manage, but these lands obviously required the services of scores of workers. What was more, the rows were immaculate and uniform, every tree in the cherry orchard they passed was flourishing and heavy with fruit, and there were no weeds to be seen anywhere, not even along the sides of the dirt roadway down which they walked. He spied an oat field in the distance, with a harvesting crew busy at work before the sun rose too high. They were all working diligently, but there was a lively conversation going on as well, interspersed with many a laugh. With all his heart, Sam briefly wished that he could join them rather than face the Hall again, but he firmly removed the thought from his mind. Even though he doubted his own usefulness in this matter, Frodo needed him by his side, and that was where he’d be staying.
Pippin said nothing as they walked, and was notably quiet and subdued. Merry had never returned last night.
*****
Saradoc Brandybuck strode through the doorway of the front dining hall, where his wife and the Tooks had been breakfasting. An imposing, strongly built hobbit, he was every inch the Master of Brandy Hall, but his expression this morning was concerned and he only gave his brother- and sister-in-law the briefest of nods before turning to his wife. “The lad hasn’t shown up yet?” he quickly asked, with a frown.
“And which lad would that be?” Esme asked, with an only partially concealed air of infinite patience.
“Why, either one,” he barked impatiently. “Bad enough to lose the one, but our son as well? He seemed fine enough yesterday, what’s getting into these lads anyway?”
“When was the last you saw of him?” Paladin rose, walking over to where his brother-in-law stood pouring himself a quick cup of tea, next to the long wooden table.
Saradoc hastily poured the contents of the cup down his throat, and set it down with a noticeable thump. Esme winced, those cups had belonged to her mother, and were rather fine. But Saradoc paid no heed, scratching his head as he tried to remember the details of his last sight of Merry.
“Just came back from the cherry orchard, ought to begin harvest on that tomorrow, those oats are just about through. Ponies went to the stall, I went to the barn to have a word with Halstad, herd was just coming in for the afternoon. Merry said that he was going to get cleaned up for lunch, but I didn’t have time to eat.” Saradoc paused thoughtfully. “That was the last time I saw him. He was supposed to go have a word with the barrel makers in Frogmorton yesterday afternoon; this year’s pipeweed harvest promises to be an exceptional one. When I didn’t see him at dinner last night, I assumed he was waiting the storm out at the inn.”
“But the rain ended before sundown,” Esme said fretfully, “and he wasn’t at dinner last night, nor first nor second breakfast this morning. And I just went to check his room and the bed was never slept in.” She also rose, and striding over to the bell pull, gave it a sharp tug. “Really, Sara, I do wish you and your son would do a better job of communicating. He probably has a valid excuse for all of this, but you really need to keep better track of him.”
Saradoc began to say something and then thought better of it. “He’ll turn up,” he stated flatly, and then turned to Paladin. “I’ve put up a new rack for drying the pipeweed. Would you like to take a look at it?”
“Certainly,” Paladin laid his napkin on the table and was nearly instantly out the door at Sara’s heels. Esme might be his sister, but he couldn’t help but admire Sara’s fortitude these last several years.
“Humpf,” Esme’s snort left no doubt as to her opinion at her husband and brother’s quick retreat. “So, Eglantine, I’m amazed that you let Pearl go off to Hobbiton entirely on her own,” she turned on her sister-in-law with a snap. “Do you really think that was wise?”
Lana strove hard not to rattle her tea cup as she placed it on the table. Her sister-in-law had always secretly terrified her. “Pearl is very reliable,” she stated quietly, her voice only quavering the tiniest bit. “She has plenty of friends in Hobbiton with whom she can stay.”
“Well, I don’t see why she has to wait for that Baggins lad to return,” Esme’s disapproval was evident. “Surely she could have left a message with someone.”
“I thought it might be nice to let her have a bit of a visit,” Lana bravely declared. “There are so few lasses her age around us that it’s nice for her to have a chance to get into town.”
Esme raised an eyebrow at that. The housemaids had just responded to her ring, and silently, she swept her hand in the direction of the dishes on the table. But after they had left, with full hands and arms, she commented darkly, “Well, I would hope it’s not only the lasses that she’s visiting, but perhaps some of their brothers as well. How old is she again, anyway?”
*****
Pearl stood in front of the mirror of the guest bedroom at Bag End, studying her gown in front of the small looking glass. Slowly she sighed. No, it really would not do at all. A useful dress, to be sure, but in no way a festive dress. Glancing at the only other dress that she had brought with her, which lay in a rather rumpled heap on the floor, she considered her situation.
The dinner in her honor was to be tomorrow night. Her choice of apparel for that event consisted of either the dress she was wearing (and as she was becoming uncomfortably aware, had been wearing for a couple of days now), or the other dress, more festive perhaps, but unaccountably sporting a rather large blueberry stain prominently on the bodice. In any event, it seemed that the need for laundering one or both of them was upon her.
And here was her dilemma. For wasn’t Daisy, by profession, a laundress? Yet for some reason that she could by no means account for, she was very reluctant to request Daisy’s services. Falling back onto the comfortable bed, she stared up at the ceiling. For some reason, she had been drawn to Daisy from the moment of their meeting. She treasured the hope that Daisy might actually think of her as a friend, and certainly, one did not ask a friend to do one’s laundry.
At last, she sat up on the bed. Surely she ought to be able to manage this task by herself. After being gone all this time, Frodo just couldn’t choose this particular moment to return home. She could launder both of her dresses herself (for certainly that stain would come out if she used very hot water and scrubbed quite hard), and dry them before the fire. Her chemise would do in the meantime.
Heartened by her decision, she quickly set to work.
*****
Once again, Sam was amazed by the number of hobbits about the courtyards and outer buildings as they approached Brandy Hall. Only on market day and festival days had he ever seen as many in one place, and he knew, from his and Frodo’s last visit here, that this was just a normal day at Brandy Hall. But he did notice the looks that Frodo and Pippin were receiving as they passed by. Certainly their faces were known here, and he saw some of the laborers talking to each other and staring at them as they passed. Frodo’s face was impassive, and he was giving no outward indications of his emotions, but Sam knew by the set of his shoulders and slight clench of his jaw that he was uncomfortable as well. He moved ever so slightly closer to Frodo, willing him comfort, and determined to undergo any amount of uneasiness for his sake.
The murmurs around them grew louder and more distinct as they approached the Hall, and once again, apparently forewarned, the Mistress of Brandy Hall came from the grand front door, as she once had several months ago. But this time, she was followed by another gentle-hobbit of about the same age and strangely familiar green eyes, and when she gave a sudden sob and rushed into a startled Pippin’s arms, Sam realized that this must be his mother. Quietly, she drew Pippin willingly off, and Frodo and Sam were left alone before Esme Brandybuck.
Coolly, she gazed at Frodo, as if he were a not particularly interesting insect that she might have found upon the table, and the decision as whether to swat him or allow him to fly away was entirely without consequence to her. With a sudden rush of passion that was entirely foreign to him, Sam abruptly found himself hating her, hating the lack of affection with which she had allowed Frodo to grow up, hating the absolute lack of interest with which she had regarded Frodo on their last visit, hating coldness with which she observed him now, and silently vowing that if it took his whole life, he would compensate Frodo for that lack, a thousand times over.
“Pippin came to me,” Frodo stated quietly but firmly. “I guessed that his family would come here to look for him, so I brought him back here. And the next time you send him off, Aunt Esme,” he added, with a bit of a bite edging into his voice, “I would suggest that you do so a bit more diplomatically.”
Esme Brandybuck coldly turned her head past Frodo at that, as if he had made no comment worth remarking upon. “Please see that you are gone by lunch, Frodo,” she remarked over her shoulder as she turned away. “Make sure that your boy leaves with you, and kindly do not come back without an invitation again.”
*****
Pippin did feel rather ashamed of himself when he saw how upset his mother was, though she tried to hide it from him. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said remorsefully, as he took her arm and drew her along a path in the shade, away from the Hall. “I really should have asked Frodo to send word to you that I was with him. But we were just having such a lovely trip back, he and I and Sam, and we didn’t stop at any inns where I could have sent word, and, well, I suppose I just didn’t think.”
“Oh, Pippin,” she replied, giving his arm a small squeeze and quickly pecking his cheek, for she had never really been able to be stern with the lad, “you have a good heart, my dear, but you are just so impetuous. And now your father and I have had to make this trip to Brandy Hall, and you do know how your father hates that.”
Pippin couldn’t help a grin at this. There was a reason he normally stayed at Brandy Hall without his parents’ company. “Is Aunt Esme driving him wild yet?” he laughed, but then suddenly the reason for his departure jogged his memory.
“Aunt Esme,” he swallowed hard. “Has she said, erm, anything about me?”
“About you?” his mother stopped, clearly surprised by the question. “No, not really, other than she had asked you to go home because she thought that Merry needed to pay more attention to his duties.”
Pippin felt himself relax at that as his mother continued. “Oh course, it’s odd that Merry can’t be found at the moment, but I imagine she’s right, he’ll have some reasonable explanation when he does show up. Merry is always so sensible and clear-headed.”
“Merry’s missing?” Pippin repeated, puzzled. “Why we just saw him…” and then Merry’s last words to him came back to him. Resolutely, he steered his mother back around towards the Hall. “We have to go back, Mother,” he informed her. “I need to find him myself.” Concealing his concern, he flashed her that impish grin that always made her forgive him, no matter what the circumstances. “Cousin Merry has really never been that hard to find. Don‘t worry, I promise I‘ll have him back by tea.”
****
Pearl Took slumped in a chair in front of the kitchen fire. The attempt at laundering had not gone particularly well. The blueberry stain had proved impossible to remove, and the wet dresses seemed to be taking an infernally long time to dry. Worse yet, she was now trapped inside Bag End in her chemise, and it was turning out to be a lovely day outside. Gloomily, she glared at the wet fabric laid out on the floor, and wondered if popping them in the oven might not speed the process along. Probably not the best of ideas, she conceded with a sigh. They would probably just dry out in nasty little balls, and she would never be able to get them on again.
Her heart suddenly jumped into her throat, as she heard the sound of someone opening the kitchen garden gate, and she immediately had a horrific image in her mind of Frodo deciding to return at just this moment, and finding a rather scantily clad cousin with her wet clothing strewn about, making herself quite free with Bag End.
With great relief, she heard footsteps approach the kitchen door directly and with a quiet rap, let herself in. That had to be Daisy, and to her immense relief, it was.
Daisy took in the situation with a glance, and began to giggle, quite helplessly. Pearl tried, for one brief moment, to appear affronted, but Daisy’s laughter was far too infectious, and she was forced to join in. “Oh, very well, then,” she finally managed to get out, “I concede that I am hopeless. But,” she added, no longer laughing, but looking up at Daisy, suddenly wistful, “I so do wish there was something I could get right.”
“Oh, my dear,” Daisy said instantly, ashamed immediately of her first reaction, “There’s no-one as is born knowin’ these things. I just wished that you‘d asked me.”
“But I didn’t want to,” Pearl responded quietly at that. “You don’t do for me, Daisy. I don’t want you to do for me.” An unexpected silence fell at that, and Pearl suddenly felt that she was in a situation with no known guidelines, no normal procedures, and, perhaps, no definite boundaries.
But Daisy looked straight back at her, her warm brown eyes regarding Pearl carefully. “I don’t want t’be doin’ for you, neither. But I would’ve helped you.”
*****
Saradoc and Paladin strolled onto the drive leading from the outlying buildings to the main hall and stopped in surprise. Down at the end of the drive, Frodo had just turned away from Esme Brandybuck, and was already heading away from Brandy Hall, with another hobbit they did not recognize at his side. Breaking into a quick trot, Paladin Took ran down the drive, calling out Frodo’s name, with Saradoc Brandybuck at his heels.
“Oh, lad, ‘tis good to see you,” exclaimed Paladin, grasping Frodo firmly by the shoulders as he met up with him. “And Pippin?”
“Came back with me,” Frodo assured him, with a smile. “He’s with his mother right now.”
“Ah, now, Frodo, I thought we could count on you,” Saradoc joined them quickly, a relieved smile on his face. “He certainly did give us a scare. But, where would you be going, now?” Paladin had already left to check on his son when Saradoc suddenly registered the fact that Frodo had been walking away from Brandy Hall, not toward it. “You can’t be leaving like this, you haven’t even eaten with us yet.”
“Well, I really do need to be getting back,” Frodo began, but Saradoc was having none of it.
“Nonsense, my lad. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to be going. I really had no chance to talk to you that much this Yuletide, what with that lot that always shows up here, for no particularly good reason other than to make free with my provisions. Come, you’ll at least stay for dinner tonight, now, won’t you?”
Frodo was silent for a moment, but his wry sense of the potential drama of this situation was proving hard to resist. Besides, he really did want to speak with Merry once more before they left, although he had no idea what he actually had to say to him.
“Thank you, Uncle Sara, I will,” he said finally, but immediately added, “but first let me just have a moment with my friend.”
“Certainly, and of course he‘s invited as well,” Saradoc nodded. “I need to speak with my foreman anyway. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” And he was gone.
Frodo turned to Sam, who had been quietly waiting to the side during this exchange, hoping against hope that he and Frodo would be able to return to the cave where they had spent the previous evening. It was with sinking spirits that he had heard Frodo agree to stay, but he was resolved to hide that from Frodo. But Frodo seemed, as always, to read his heart.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he said softly, turning and taking his hand, no matter that the courtyard was full with the bustle of Brandy Hall. “I really should do this, I think, and not let Aunt Esme run me out.”
Quickly, he gave a glance over his shoulder to where Saradoc was standing near the stables, engrossed in conversation with the foreman of Brandy Hall. He turned back to Sam, and felt Sam’s reassuring return grip, and looked into his warm hazel eyes. “This next bit could get nasty,” he said haltingly, “and I’ll not put you through it. If you go to the servant’s hall, you can eat there, and look for Halstad. Tell him I asked you to stay with him, and I’ll find the two of you as soon as I can.”
Sam nodded, but kept Frodo’s hand firmly in his.
“And Sam,” Frodo swallowed and then added softly, his clear blue eyes searching Sam’s, “I’ll be with you tonight. I promise you that, my dearest. And we’ll leave tomorrow. You have my word on that, too.”
Sam smiled warmly at him, and raised Frodo’s hand, still tightly grasped in his own, to his breast. “Don’t you never let them fret you, Frodo-love,” he murmured, holding Frodo’s gaze. “You are so much finer than they could ever be. Never you forget that, me dear.”
Frodo looked at him for a moment in silence. “I do love you so, Sam,” he whispered, and then, releasing Sam’s hand, followed Saradoc down the drive without a look back. Sam watched him go with a smile.
*****
It was in the apple shed that Pippin found Merry. He had been stretched out on his side upon a bale of straw, hidden in the shadowy back corner, but he looked up as Pippin entered the shed with no surprise whatsoever on his face. “Yes, here I am,” he said flatly. “You always do find me, don’t you.”
Pippin looked down at him. “Well, you could at least let me have a corner. I’ve been walking my legs off lately.”
Merry silently moved his legs slightly to the side, allowing Pippin only the smallest of corners on which to sit, but Pippin plopped himself down and thankfully stretched his legs out.
“I’d offer you an apple,” he commented, looking about the shed, “but it seems as though that would be a little unnecessary. I didn’t finish the bread, though.” From under his jacket, he produced the remains of the heel of bread he had been munching on as they had traveled to Brandy Hall that morning. He tossed it over to Merry, who caught it, gave it an appraising look, and then started to consume it moodily.
“So you’ve been found again,” he at last asked Pippin, rather querulously.
Pippin had produced an apple of his own from his pocket, and was gnawing on it thoughtfully. He looked over at Merry’s question and gave him a brief smile. “Yes,” he answered, turning to stare unseeingly out the door of the shed. “And then you go missing. I’ve promised to bring you back by tea time, you know.”
Merry gave a brief grunt at that, but said no more.
They sat silently together after that until at last, Pippin flung his apple core out the doorway of the shed and said, with a certain edge to his voice, “I suppose we really aren’t free to choose, are we, Merry. Not like Frodo.” Unconsciously, he had pushed himself back on the bale, until he was leaning into Merry’s outstretched legs.
Merry was still silent, but drew his knees up, wrapping himself around Pippin.
“Sometimes, I wish we were just nobodies, and could do what we like,” Pippin continued, still rather mournfully, but tucking himself a bit further into Merry.
Merry gave a reluctant snort of amusement at this. “You will never be a nobody, Pippin Took,” he commented wryly. “I don’t think you’d be capable of that.”
Pippin was curled up by now quite thoroughly against Merry, who had draped an arm casually over Pippin’s shoulder. Silence fell again, but a more comfortable one this time. Merry broke it by saying, very quietly, “I’m sorry, Pippin. For what I said last night. I was upset. It was a pile of rubbish and I didn’t mean a word of it.”
Pippin was still gazing in front of him, through the opening of the shed to the green fields beyond. He smiled at that, but didn’t look back at Merry. “I know, my dear,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”
Merry found himself examining Pippin’s profile as if seeing it anew. The distinctively Tookish sharp features, the coppery curls, the green eyes staring thoughtfully away to the fields, they were all so familiar, and yet they were not. Somehow, Merry realized, Pippin had been growing up. Almost without realizing that he spoke aloud, he said simply, “Frodo was right.”
“He generally is,” Pippin responded easily. Turning his head to Merry, he inquired curiously, “What about this time?”
Merry gave him a smile at that, a warm one. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you.” He swung his legs off the bale then, and stood up to stretch heartily. “I suppose it’s nearly lunch. May as well face the family. If Cook is in good form, perhaps they’ll be distracted.”
But as Pippin also rose, Merry caught him up quickly in a fierce hug. “I‘m glad you always find me,” he said softly as he held Pippin close. Then, releasing Pippin, he strode out into the sunlight. Pippin followed with a smile, for it was definitely a kiss that he had felt on his cheek, before Merry had let him go.
*****
“It’d be the breeze as does it,” Daisy pronounced mildly, as she and Pearl still stared at the drying dresses in the kitchen of Bag End. “That, and the sun. Especially on such a fine day as this’d be.” And indeed, the day outside had become quite warm, a true harbinger of the summer that had nearly arrived. As if coming to a sudden decision, she gathered up the damp clothing and handed one dress to Pearl. “Just wrap it about yourself, they’d be none to see,” she said briskly. “There’s a back field to Bag End, we can be spreadin’ them out there. There’s naught as could be botherin‘ us, don’t be frettin’ about that.”
“Wonderful,” Pearl replied gratefully. “”It’s so much nicer out-of-doors than being cooped up in this kitchen. Here, I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through the doorway to the pantry, and reappeared in no time with a bulging sack. “Cousin Frodo, will clearly have to go to market when he returns,” she announced with a grin. “But fortunately he apparently believes in a well-stocked larder.”
“Ah, that would definitely be Sam,” Daisy laughed, unthinkingly, as they exited out the kitchen door into the nearby garden. “Mr. Frodo would never keep it so well, but Sam now, well, that lad has always had an appetite.”
“Really?” Pearl answered, curious, as she followed Daisy up the path to the back hill. “Frodo and his gardener do appear to be rather close.”
Daisy stopped short, her face suddenly flushed. Gazing unseeingly at the lush green meadow sprinkled with the gold of dandelions that stretched out before them, she softly said, “T’would not be my place to say.”
“As close as all that?” Pearl came up to her side, with a warm smile. “Well seeing as how it’s your brother, I’d say that Frodo is a very lucky hobbit.” And before Daisy could have time to react, Pearl stepped forward, and laying down the dress that she had wrapped about her out on the grass, she twirled impulsively around in the light breeze in her chemise. “Oh, Daisy,” she beamed back at her, ”I can’t tell you how lovely this feels. You really should try it too.”
Daisy only watched her for a moment before years of inhibitions fell away, and dropping the other damp dress quickly upon the grass, she rapidly stripped herself of her own, and in her chemise as well, ran laughing up to Pearl.
Pearl caught up her hand. “Up here,” she said quietly, holding Daisy’s hand tightly, “who our families are really doesn’t matter. Here, it’s just the two of us.”
“Aye,” Daisy breathed, feeling as if a whole world had unexpectedly opened before her amazed eyes. And in the brief moment before Pearl kissed her, she suddenly understood everything Sam had ever told her.
******
It was with a sharp hiss of her breath that Esme Brandybuck registered Frodo’s entrance, along with that of her husband and her brother. But the luncheon table was set, and Cook had prepared a rather extraordinary mushroom tart, and the strawberries were still quite good. So she stifled her comments until the dishes were being removed, and the party withdrew to the front parlor. It was then that she spoke her mind. “Really, Saradoc,” she elegantly draped herself upon the chaise lounge, teacup in hand, “I do not understand in the least why you allow Frodo’s presence here any longer. He is hardly a proper influence on our son.”
Frodo set his teacup down upon the side table and walked towards the door. There really was a limit, and the thought of returning to his beloved Bag End with Sam was beginning to prove irresistible.
But Saradoc moved gracefully but purposefully to the doorway, effectively blocking Frodo’s exit. “Tell me, my dear, what frightful crime has Frodo committed this time?”
Esme glanced carefully at the cup in her hand. “I believe Frodo should be the one to give you that information,” she replied loftily. “I’d just rather that he’d not come into contact with our son any longer.”
Saradoc turned to Frodo with puzzled frown, and Frodo suddenly felt as if he’d had enough of these half-truths, and delicate nuances. “I believe Aunt Esme is referring to the fact that I share my home and my bed with Sam,” he stated bluntly, more than glad to get it out and then just go.
“Sam?” replied Saradoc with a puzzled frown. “Never heard of the fellow.”
“Samwise Gamgee,” Esme pronounced the name as if it were a particularly distasteful species of mold.
Saradoc turned to Frodo with a grin at that. “Can’t say as I know him,” he commented, “but that’d be Hamfast Gamgee’s son, surely? Fine hobbit, the father. Fine indeed. I‘d enjoy meeting his son, that I would.”
Esme rose up at that, in righteous indignation. “Saradoc Brandybuck, you can’t tell me that you’d allow our son to have any contact with such an unhealthy influence as this! I simply can’t believe it.”
“Well, if that bothers you so, why didn’t you have any qualms about shipping Frodo off to Bilbo Baggins, years ago?” Saradoc questioned her sharply.
“Bilbo?” Frodo gasped at that, questions racing through his mind that he had never before considered.
“Bilbo?” he heard Paladin grunt from behind him. “That one always was a puzzle.”
“Well, I had always heard dwarves were what he fancied,” Saradoc answered placidly, turning to his brother-in-law. There was a snort of indignation from Esme at that, as well as a quickly suppressed snicker from Lana, demurely perched on a window seat and sipping her tea.
“Like enough, if he ever had an actual preference,” Paladin chuckled. “I had always understood that he was a hobbit of a rather wide range of experiences.”
Saradoc gave a guffaw at that. “Well of course, there was always the incident of the… Ah, it’s Merry. And Pippin.”
Pleased as he was at his cousins’ appearances, Frodo couldn’t help but feel that their timing was a bit unfortunate.
*****
Frodo had insisted on his old room this time, high in the upper warren of rooms that was Brandy Hall. Esme had felt compelled to mention that though doubtlessly clean, it had not been used much in recent years, and was hardly suitable for the use of guests. But since there was no accounting for the preferences of some, and there had been a particular emphasis on that last phrase on her part, he may as well use it. The question of where Sam was to spend the night was, of course, entirely beneath her notice.
Sam followed Frodo, who was lighting the way by single candlelight, carefully up the winding stairway. Sam had encountered stairs for the first time on their previous visit to Brandy Hall, and was still not too certain about them. But if Frodo was leading them to a room of their own, where they could escape the rest of the inhabitants of this populous place, well then, he was more than glad to follow.
“Not much further, Sam,” Frodo turned back to him, and smiling, stretched out a hand. “At the end of this corridor.” Sam reached out, and grasping Frodo’s hand, followed him around one more turn, and through a plain wooden door that had been left open. “Ah, it hasn’t changed.” Frodo said, with a distant voice, entering the room. “It really hasn’t changed at all.”
Sam followed Frodo into a small room, lit only by candlelight and the moonlight that fell through a large round window that was centered in one wall. There was a bed against the opposite wall, several shelves against the sides of the room, only partially filled with dusty darkly-bound volumes, and a small wardrobe in the back corner, empty, and with its door ajar. Situated directly under the window was a rather sturdy desk and plain chair. Other than the books, there was no attempt at ornamentation, and the room had the distinct air of disuse.
But Frodo looked about with a smile, as if he had returned to a welcome home. “I loved this room,” he said softly, placing the candle in its holder upon the shelves and blowing it out. “Let me show you why.”
Leaning over the desk, he pushed open the window casement, and then climbed on the chair and then onto the desk. Sam watched in silent amazement, as Frodo turned back to him, with a laugh, and said lightly, “I’d better check it out first, Sam. I’ll be right back.” With that, he stepped over to the wide window sill, placed one foot on a ledge directly outside the window, and disappeared from Sam’s sight.
Sam moved fearfully over to the window and looked out, but could see Frodo nowhere. Instead, though, his breath caught in his throat as he beheld the hedge that surrounded this side of Brandy Hall, lying far below in the moonlight. As he backed instinctively away from the window, Frodo reappeared with a breathless laugh. “No-one’s been up here save the pigeons,” he exclaimed. “Throw me that blanket, Sam, there’s the lad.”
Sam turned and spotted one folded at the end of the bed. He tossed it to Frodo, who promptly disappeared again. But before Sam could go back to the window to brave another glance, Frodo had returned, and was standing on the desk again, his hand outstretched, and a wide smile on his face. “Come, Sam, dearest,” he said gently. “Come with me.”
Of course there was no question as to whether Sam would follow. He tried his best to hide his fear, and stepped up onto the desk beside Frodo, who briefly touched his cheek, and lightly kissed him. “It’s worth it, trust me,” he whispered, with shining eyes. As if Sam ever wouldn’t. Watching only Frodo before him, he stepped out onto the ledge as well. “Right here, Sam,” Frodo proceeded him, showing him the ledge on which to step, the stone to grasp. And before Sam could quite realize where they were going, they were on the roof over Brandy Hall, and all of Buckland fell away far below them in the bright moonlight.
This particular section of the Hall had jutted away from the hill, and the thatched roof extended from the sheer face of the rise. It was not a large section of roof, covering no more than Frodo’s room beneath, and had been constructed more for the purpose for drainage, to the sides, than for additional living quarters. But whatever the purpose, it was immaterial to the two that stood there, so far above the courtyards and gardens below.
For the view was everything. Beyond the immediate grounds of the Hall, the tops of the surrounding trees shone darkly in the silvery light, and far off there was a glint and sparkle that could be glimpsed beyond them. With a start, Sam realized that it was the Brandywine he saw. Without words, he sank down on the blanket that Frodo had already spread out on the thatch, and gazed, open-mouthed, at the wondrous sight before him. Frodo sat down beside him, with a pleased smile at Sam’s reaction, and throwing an arm tightly about his shoulders, softly chuckled. “It’s glorious, isn’t it, Sam?” he murmured proudly.
“Aye,” Sam whispered, finding his voice with some difficulty. “Who’d ever know the world’d be this great?”
Frodo gave a happy laugh at that. “Exactly what I always thought,” he exclaimed, warmly. Drawing Sam even more closely to him, with his free hand, he took Sam’s nearest hand into his lap, and interlaced his fingers through Sam’s. “I used to come up here to get away, to think, and to day-dream. No-one ever found me up here, no-one ever thought to look. Only Merry knew where I’d go, and he was always too afraid to follow me. Of course, he was still quite young then.”
Frodo tightened his grip around Sam’s fingers a bit at that, and fell silent, staring off to the west. “I used to dream that I could see the sea from here,” he said at last, very quietly. “I would think I saw it shining silver, very far off. And I thought that someday I might try to find it, for I saw no reason to stay here.” Slowly drawing his hand away from Sam’s at that, he raised it to the side of Sam’s face and gently turned it toward him. “I don’t think that any more, Sam,” he whispered, and Sam raised his mouth up at that and found Frodo’s waiting for him.
The long stressful day became immediately a forgotten memory to Sam as his arms closed around his beloved Frodo, and their mouths sealed in a lingering kiss. When they slowly, at last, broke apart, Sam took up Frodo’s hand in his, and held it, gazing at it as if it were some warm, momentarily stunned bird, ready to fly away at the least touch. “Were you that lonely here, then?” he asked quietly, not looking up at Frodo. “To be thinkin’ of goin’ so far away as all o’that?”
Frodo sighed, leaning his head onto Sam’s shoulder, and stared out again to the moonlit vista before them. “I was,” he murmured. “Uncle Sara means well enough, but he didn’t have much time for children. And Merry was very fond of me, and I loved him dearly, but he was still so much younger. And, well, you’ve met Aunt Esme.”
He was silent for a moment, and then added, almost reluctantly, “Do you know what I used to wish for, up here, Sam?”
Sam’s hands closed gently around Frodo’s, but he said nothing and waited.
“For someone to fall in love with.” Frodo’s voice was very soft now, and his emotions were very clearly quite close to the surface. “And I thought that I would never…, that there never would be anyone. Because I looked so strange, and was far too shy around others, and liked books and things that no-one else did, and because,” here he paused, and tucked his face into Sam’s shoulder.
“And because?” Sam gently prompted, somehow knowing that there was a matter of importance behind this pause.
After a moment, Frodo lifted his head up and set his shoulders. “Because, whenever I dreamed of that someone, I always saw the face of a lad,” he stated quietly. “Never a lass.”
Sam said nothing to this revelation, but bringing Frodo’s hand to his lips, he gently kissed it.
“I don’t suppose that’s the sort of day-dream you ever had, was it, Sam?” Frodo glanced over at him with a slightly wry smile. “Yours must have been full of bonnie lasses and bouncing children, I should think.”
“Aye, they were supposed to have been, at that. Wouldna that be the type of life you’ve ruined for me?” Sam gave him an unexpected sideways smile.
Frodo suddenly felt himself redden slightly, although in the moonlight, no-one ever could have told. “I still can’t help think that, at times,” he admitted, rather sheepishly.
Sam regarded him warmly, reaching a hand out to cup his face. “If that’d have been the life I’d wished for, why then I’d have never come back to Bag End that night you asked me to sleep with you,” he said firmly, searching Frodo’s eyes with his own. “I’d never have kissed you in the kitchen. An’ I’d surely never would’ve stood up to the gaffer, to come live with you at Bag End. There ain’t a thing you’ve ever forced me into, Frodo. So unless you’d be sayin’ I’d be too weak-minded to know as what’d be best for me, it seems as though I’ve pretty much done this to myself.”
And Sam leaned forward at that to kiss Frodo in a way that rather reinforced his inescapable logic about the matter.
“Well,” Frodo protested rather weakly, his arms still on Sam’s shoulders as their mouths broke apart, “I might have a distracting influence on you, you know. You might not have been thinking all that clearly.”
“Oh, aye,” admitted Sam, running a gentle hand through Frodo’s dark curls, and, caressingly, out to his ear tip. “I’d admit to having the hot blood runnin’ through me, and some other part of me thinkin’ stronger than my brains.” His hand came back down the side of Frodo’s face and gently teased the curls at the nape of Frodo’s neck.
Frodo felt an involuntary shudder course through his body at that. Unconsciously, he was kneading Sam’s shoulder through the fabric of his jacket.
“Doesn’t make my choices wrong though, as near as I can tell,” Sam whispered at that, scooting closer to take advantage of brushing the dark locks back from the side of Frodo’s silvered face, and lightly kissing him on the taut skin over the cheekbone.
“Oh, not wrong,” Frodo’s voice came out in nearly a moan, for surely Sam’s tongue had become very clever as it sought out the most sensitive areas of his now exposed ear. Suddenly he felt a rush of emotion, a fervent wave of passion for this gentle and loving hobbit beside him. And he knew that whatever he had dreamed up here, all alone, as a lonely and awkward youth, had never come anywhere close to what he’d been given.
He turned to Sam, cradling his face in his hands, and gazed on the face of the hobbit that he loved with all his heart. Sam’s eyes had closed, and his tanned features were strangely glowing in the blanched light, but his strong hands still cradled Frodo’s head as Frodo bent forward and lightly kissed those shut eyelids. “Oh, Sam,” he breathed, “oh, my own love. You are the greatest gift I’ll ever know.”
And then there was no more time for words as his mouth met Sam’s once again. But now it was his tongue that urgently sought entrance and was willing welcomed by Sam’s. And even as his breath quickened, and his arms tightened around Sam’s shoulders, his mouth melded with Sam’s and joined it as one. Inevitably, he had to finally gasp, and catch his breath, but could not stay away, for nothing he knew had ever been as sweet as Sam’s mouth. It inflamed him, as always, enflamed and engorged him, and they were both wearing entirely too much clothing.
Urgently, his hands slipped under Sam’s jacket, and coaxed it quickly off Sam’s shoulders, and no sooner had he done so, than he felt Sam’s hands under his, performing the same task. And then Sam’s clever fingers were at the buttons of his shirt, and they were undone and it was pushed back off his shoulders, and ah! Sam’s mouth was upon his skin, moving quickly to the crook of his neck, suckling and nipping, and Frodo threw back his head and laughed joyfully.
“Oh, Sam,” he cried, catching his breath. “Maybe we should go back down to the room.”
By now, Sam was trailing kisses down what was revealed by the partially unbuttoned shirt, but he stopped for a moment to growl, “So my fine lady wouldna be appreciatin’ us endin’ up in her petunia bed below?”
Frodo laughed again, feeling gloriously carefree, “Why, Sam!” He buried his nose in the mass of golden curls, just behind Sam’s ear, and gave Sam’s neck a playful nip at that. “Well,” he pronounced with a great attempt at solemnity, “broken legs are so very inconvenient.”
Sam had broken away his exploration of Frodo’s chest in the face of his action, and was now sitting with a leg on either side of Frodo. “But we’d have to be lettin’ go then,” he observed, sliding his hands under Frodo’s open shirt, “and I can’t say as I want to be doin’ that.”
Frodo, sitting back on his heels, leaned into Sam’s caressing touch and moaned softly. “You do have a point, at that,” he gasped, his eyes closing.
Leaning forward, Sam brought his hands around to brush aside the inconvenient shirt, and leaned forward to tease those sensitive dark nubs with his tongue.
“Ah, Sam, we need to go down,” Frodo moaned at that, involuntarily rising up into Sam’s firm grasp.
“Aye, that’d be the idea,” Sam muttered quickly, before tugging Frodo’s shirt off suddenly and flinging it aside. It sailed over the side of the roof, but neither noticed. Sam was far more concerned with Frodo’s trousers, which, curiously enough, were still on him. One hand kept Frodo still firmly in place, while the other worried at the fastening, and all the while Sam’s mouth was busy on that delicious stomach, and Frodo lost all thought of moving from where they were.
Finally the trousers were open, and Frodo gasped a choked wordless cry as Sam’s mouth closed around him. He closed his eyes, and gave himself over entirely to Sam; Sam’s strong hands supporting him from behind, his warm mouth around him, and Sam’s tongue… ah, when had that tongue become so clever? Teasing him, fondling him, stroking him, as his rhythm increased its pace, and his hands dug deeper into Sam’s shoulders, and his breath came out in short harsh pants, and he found himself entirely unable to even say Sam’s name, until, inevitably, he felt the throbbing surge beyond all control, and he burst convulsively into Sam’s waiting mouth.
It wasn’t until he could catch his breath that he sank back down for a moment between Sam’s legs, and laid his head on his shoulder. He could hear Sam’s pleased chuckle, and feel Sam wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace, and felt the sudden rush of passion in his heart for this, the treasure he’d never thought to find, hidden in his cousin’s garden.
Suddenly, he raised his head and, sweeping his arms around Sam, caught him up in a fervent, adoring embrace. “Sam, oh my Sam,” he cried, and gently but insistently pushed Sam back onto the blanket upon which they were sitting. Sam lay back, saying nothing, but raised a hand to the side of Frodo’s face, silvered in the moonlight, and smiled lovingly up at him. “You are mine, Sam,” Frodo whispered, staring down at him, “always mine.” And he bent down, kissing him fiercely.
“Aye,” Sam murmured, his arms flung around Frodo’s neck and his eyes shining with happiness, “always yours, Frodo-love. Always.”
It was fortunate the Mistress of Brandy Hall chose the next morning in which to sleep late. Had she risen earlier, she might have found her nephew’s and his gardener’s jackets draped over the petunias outside of her bedroom window, and Frodo’s shirt cast upon the primrose. However, by the time she rose for her morning tea, they were once again quite properly covering their rightful owners.
To be continued……
Title: Floating Into Light, Part Four
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S, mainly
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Esme disapproves of many things, and Sam discovers that he has no fear of heights.
Floating into Light
Part Four
Paladin Took tapped the shell of his egg in its cup irritably. “So now you’re telling me, Esme,” he grunted, messily breaking the top of the shell off, “that your son has gone missing as well?”
“I really don’t think that that has anything to do with Pippin’s vanishing into thin air,” Esme commented sourly, giving her brother a glare as she carefully stirred her tea. “It was more than past time that Pippin went home. It’s hard enough for Merry to learn all his new duties now that he is a tween, without having the distraction of a young cousin always about who only wishes to be amused.” If there was more to her reasoning than this, she had thus far kept it from, as far as she was aware, anyone else. Distasteful matters such as Frodo Baggins and his recent disreputable conduct really need not be discussed. Her judgment should be sufficient when it came to matters regarding her son.
“I sent Pippin home properly escorted by one of our most reliable drivers,” she continued sternly. “I can’t help it if he shakes him off at the inn, and goes off on his own. Merry is probably checking on some matter that needs his attention. It’s unfortunate that he’s forgotten to mention it to either his father or myself, but I’m sure he’ll have an appropriate explanation when we do see him.”
“Humph.” Paladin’s observation was clearly disbelieving. “Then you are telling me the fact that apparently Frodo Baggins has chosen to vanish at this same time on a walking excursion has nothing to do with the disappearance of your son or mine? A fine coincidence, I’d call it.”
“I have warned Merry to stay away from that worthless cousin of his,” Esme replied loftily, “so I fail to see the connection there. Pippin, of course, may be an entirely different matter.”
“Do you suppose that Frodo has gone off after Bilbo?” suddenly interposed Eglantine Took, “and taken the lads with him?” Her green eyes widened at the thought, and she suddenly clutched her husband’s arm tightly.
“No, Lana dear, don’t you fret,” Paladin’s voice was gentle as he lay a soothing hand on hers. “I’m sure it’s just lads’ nonsense. They’ll turn up soon enough. What could go wrong here in the Shire?”
Esme surveyed her brother and his wife with an annoyed expression. Too trusting by half, that’s what they were. And if there was one thing that she was sure of, it was that Frodo Baggins had a good deal to do with this matter of Pippin. At least Merry had more common sense than that. It was understandable enough that Paladin and his wife had come to Brandy Hall in search of Pippin when he had failed to return home. But Esme felt it was immaterial exactly why she had so summarily dispatched Pippin Took.
*****
Pearl wandered about the garden of Bag End, an early morning cup of tea in her hand. Daisy’s visit at breakfast had been, unfortunately, a hasty one. Her sister, May, had arrived at Number Three with the sunrise, apparently an unheard of event. Daisy had felt it only right to give fair warning that May was planning on conferring with their other sister, Marigold Cotton, regarding some sort of welcoming festivity in her honor. Pearl sighed, taking another sip of her tea, and noting, in an absent-minded sort of way, the exceptionally beautiful deep blue morning glories that wreathed the window of Frodo’s bedroom. She had had hopes that she would escape that sort of recognition, but evidently not.
Preoccupied as she was concerning the dreaded forthcoming social affair, Frodo’s gardens were definitely beginning to catch her eye. They truly were lovely, and so carefully tended. Almost as if they were meant as a gift to the master of Bag End, she mused, and then shook her head at her foolishness. She had heard of the Gamgees’ talent along those lines before, and the son certainly seemed to have his share of it.
Wistfully, she returned to the kitchen. She had found Bag End to be remarkably peaceful and warmly welcoming, for all that it was the home of her eccentric bachelor cousin. She really wouldn’t mind at all if Frodo turned out to be gone for quite awhile.
*****
The three travelers, who were walking up the road to Brandy Hall in the warm mid-morning sun had, each of them, their own reasons for dreading their arrival at that imposing destination. Frodo had them leave their camping gear in the cave, with the private hope that, if he was summarily dismissed by the Mistress of the Hall, at least he and Sam could spend the evening there and then be on their way back home. And if things appeared dodgy enough, he was even willing to include Pippin in his escape plans. All in all, that was not the worse scenario he could imagine. Moodily, he paid little attention to the verdant fields and orchards of the land where he had grown up, lush and ripe though they were in the early summer light.
Sam walked close by him. Frodo’s discomfort and anxiety were clear to him, and he fervently wished that whatever lay ahead of them was all over and they were on their way back to Bag End. But his gardener’s eye could not be denied, and he found the beauty about him humbling. No farm around Hobbiton was any larger than what one family, with perhaps a friend or two, could manage, but these lands obviously required the services of scores of workers. What was more, the rows were immaculate and uniform, every tree in the cherry orchard they passed was flourishing and heavy with fruit, and there were no weeds to be seen anywhere, not even along the sides of the dirt roadway down which they walked. He spied an oat field in the distance, with a harvesting crew busy at work before the sun rose too high. They were all working diligently, but there was a lively conversation going on as well, interspersed with many a laugh. With all his heart, Sam briefly wished that he could join them rather than face the Hall again, but he firmly removed the thought from his mind. Even though he doubted his own usefulness in this matter, Frodo needed him by his side, and that was where he’d be staying.
Pippin said nothing as they walked, and was notably quiet and subdued. Merry had never returned last night.
*****
Saradoc Brandybuck strode through the doorway of the front dining hall, where his wife and the Tooks had been breakfasting. An imposing, strongly built hobbit, he was every inch the Master of Brandy Hall, but his expression this morning was concerned and he only gave his brother- and sister-in-law the briefest of nods before turning to his wife. “The lad hasn’t shown up yet?” he quickly asked, with a frown.
“And which lad would that be?” Esme asked, with an only partially concealed air of infinite patience.
“Why, either one,” he barked impatiently. “Bad enough to lose the one, but our son as well? He seemed fine enough yesterday, what’s getting into these lads anyway?”
“When was the last you saw of him?” Paladin rose, walking over to where his brother-in-law stood pouring himself a quick cup of tea, next to the long wooden table.
Saradoc hastily poured the contents of the cup down his throat, and set it down with a noticeable thump. Esme winced, those cups had belonged to her mother, and were rather fine. But Saradoc paid no heed, scratching his head as he tried to remember the details of his last sight of Merry.
“Just came back from the cherry orchard, ought to begin harvest on that tomorrow, those oats are just about through. Ponies went to the stall, I went to the barn to have a word with Halstad, herd was just coming in for the afternoon. Merry said that he was going to get cleaned up for lunch, but I didn’t have time to eat.” Saradoc paused thoughtfully. “That was the last time I saw him. He was supposed to go have a word with the barrel makers in Frogmorton yesterday afternoon; this year’s pipeweed harvest promises to be an exceptional one. When I didn’t see him at dinner last night, I assumed he was waiting the storm out at the inn.”
“But the rain ended before sundown,” Esme said fretfully, “and he wasn’t at dinner last night, nor first nor second breakfast this morning. And I just went to check his room and the bed was never slept in.” She also rose, and striding over to the bell pull, gave it a sharp tug. “Really, Sara, I do wish you and your son would do a better job of communicating. He probably has a valid excuse for all of this, but you really need to keep better track of him.”
Saradoc began to say something and then thought better of it. “He’ll turn up,” he stated flatly, and then turned to Paladin. “I’ve put up a new rack for drying the pipeweed. Would you like to take a look at it?”
“Certainly,” Paladin laid his napkin on the table and was nearly instantly out the door at Sara’s heels. Esme might be his sister, but he couldn’t help but admire Sara’s fortitude these last several years.
“Humpf,” Esme’s snort left no doubt as to her opinion at her husband and brother’s quick retreat. “So, Eglantine, I’m amazed that you let Pearl go off to Hobbiton entirely on her own,” she turned on her sister-in-law with a snap. “Do you really think that was wise?”
Lana strove hard not to rattle her tea cup as she placed it on the table. Her sister-in-law had always secretly terrified her. “Pearl is very reliable,” she stated quietly, her voice only quavering the tiniest bit. “She has plenty of friends in Hobbiton with whom she can stay.”
“Well, I don’t see why she has to wait for that Baggins lad to return,” Esme’s disapproval was evident. “Surely she could have left a message with someone.”
“I thought it might be nice to let her have a bit of a visit,” Lana bravely declared. “There are so few lasses her age around us that it’s nice for her to have a chance to get into town.”
Esme raised an eyebrow at that. The housemaids had just responded to her ring, and silently, she swept her hand in the direction of the dishes on the table. But after they had left, with full hands and arms, she commented darkly, “Well, I would hope it’s not only the lasses that she’s visiting, but perhaps some of their brothers as well. How old is she again, anyway?”
*****
Pearl stood in front of the mirror of the guest bedroom at Bag End, studying her gown in front of the small looking glass. Slowly she sighed. No, it really would not do at all. A useful dress, to be sure, but in no way a festive dress. Glancing at the only other dress that she had brought with her, which lay in a rather rumpled heap on the floor, she considered her situation.
The dinner in her honor was to be tomorrow night. Her choice of apparel for that event consisted of either the dress she was wearing (and as she was becoming uncomfortably aware, had been wearing for a couple of days now), or the other dress, more festive perhaps, but unaccountably sporting a rather large blueberry stain prominently on the bodice. In any event, it seemed that the need for laundering one or both of them was upon her.
And here was her dilemma. For wasn’t Daisy, by profession, a laundress? Yet for some reason that she could by no means account for, she was very reluctant to request Daisy’s services. Falling back onto the comfortable bed, she stared up at the ceiling. For some reason, she had been drawn to Daisy from the moment of their meeting. She treasured the hope that Daisy might actually think of her as a friend, and certainly, one did not ask a friend to do one’s laundry.
At last, she sat up on the bed. Surely she ought to be able to manage this task by herself. After being gone all this time, Frodo just couldn’t choose this particular moment to return home. She could launder both of her dresses herself (for certainly that stain would come out if she used very hot water and scrubbed quite hard), and dry them before the fire. Her chemise would do in the meantime.
Heartened by her decision, she quickly set to work.
*****
Once again, Sam was amazed by the number of hobbits about the courtyards and outer buildings as they approached Brandy Hall. Only on market day and festival days had he ever seen as many in one place, and he knew, from his and Frodo’s last visit here, that this was just a normal day at Brandy Hall. But he did notice the looks that Frodo and Pippin were receiving as they passed by. Certainly their faces were known here, and he saw some of the laborers talking to each other and staring at them as they passed. Frodo’s face was impassive, and he was giving no outward indications of his emotions, but Sam knew by the set of his shoulders and slight clench of his jaw that he was uncomfortable as well. He moved ever so slightly closer to Frodo, willing him comfort, and determined to undergo any amount of uneasiness for his sake.
The murmurs around them grew louder and more distinct as they approached the Hall, and once again, apparently forewarned, the Mistress of Brandy Hall came from the grand front door, as she once had several months ago. But this time, she was followed by another gentle-hobbit of about the same age and strangely familiar green eyes, and when she gave a sudden sob and rushed into a startled Pippin’s arms, Sam realized that this must be his mother. Quietly, she drew Pippin willingly off, and Frodo and Sam were left alone before Esme Brandybuck.
Coolly, she gazed at Frodo, as if he were a not particularly interesting insect that she might have found upon the table, and the decision as whether to swat him or allow him to fly away was entirely without consequence to her. With a sudden rush of passion that was entirely foreign to him, Sam abruptly found himself hating her, hating the lack of affection with which she had allowed Frodo to grow up, hating the absolute lack of interest with which she had regarded Frodo on their last visit, hating coldness with which she observed him now, and silently vowing that if it took his whole life, he would compensate Frodo for that lack, a thousand times over.
“Pippin came to me,” Frodo stated quietly but firmly. “I guessed that his family would come here to look for him, so I brought him back here. And the next time you send him off, Aunt Esme,” he added, with a bit of a bite edging into his voice, “I would suggest that you do so a bit more diplomatically.”
Esme Brandybuck coldly turned her head past Frodo at that, as if he had made no comment worth remarking upon. “Please see that you are gone by lunch, Frodo,” she remarked over her shoulder as she turned away. “Make sure that your boy leaves with you, and kindly do not come back without an invitation again.”
*****
Pippin did feel rather ashamed of himself when he saw how upset his mother was, though she tried to hide it from him. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said remorsefully, as he took her arm and drew her along a path in the shade, away from the Hall. “I really should have asked Frodo to send word to you that I was with him. But we were just having such a lovely trip back, he and I and Sam, and we didn’t stop at any inns where I could have sent word, and, well, I suppose I just didn’t think.”
“Oh, Pippin,” she replied, giving his arm a small squeeze and quickly pecking his cheek, for she had never really been able to be stern with the lad, “you have a good heart, my dear, but you are just so impetuous. And now your father and I have had to make this trip to Brandy Hall, and you do know how your father hates that.”
Pippin couldn’t help a grin at this. There was a reason he normally stayed at Brandy Hall without his parents’ company. “Is Aunt Esme driving him wild yet?” he laughed, but then suddenly the reason for his departure jogged his memory.
“Aunt Esme,” he swallowed hard. “Has she said, erm, anything about me?”
“About you?” his mother stopped, clearly surprised by the question. “No, not really, other than she had asked you to go home because she thought that Merry needed to pay more attention to his duties.”
Pippin felt himself relax at that as his mother continued. “Oh course, it’s odd that Merry can’t be found at the moment, but I imagine she’s right, he’ll have some reasonable explanation when he does show up. Merry is always so sensible and clear-headed.”
“Merry’s missing?” Pippin repeated, puzzled. “Why we just saw him…” and then Merry’s last words to him came back to him. Resolutely, he steered his mother back around towards the Hall. “We have to go back, Mother,” he informed her. “I need to find him myself.” Concealing his concern, he flashed her that impish grin that always made her forgive him, no matter what the circumstances. “Cousin Merry has really never been that hard to find. Don‘t worry, I promise I‘ll have him back by tea.”
****
Pearl Took slumped in a chair in front of the kitchen fire. The attempt at laundering had not gone particularly well. The blueberry stain had proved impossible to remove, and the wet dresses seemed to be taking an infernally long time to dry. Worse yet, she was now trapped inside Bag End in her chemise, and it was turning out to be a lovely day outside. Gloomily, she glared at the wet fabric laid out on the floor, and wondered if popping them in the oven might not speed the process along. Probably not the best of ideas, she conceded with a sigh. They would probably just dry out in nasty little balls, and she would never be able to get them on again.
Her heart suddenly jumped into her throat, as she heard the sound of someone opening the kitchen garden gate, and she immediately had a horrific image in her mind of Frodo deciding to return at just this moment, and finding a rather scantily clad cousin with her wet clothing strewn about, making herself quite free with Bag End.
With great relief, she heard footsteps approach the kitchen door directly and with a quiet rap, let herself in. That had to be Daisy, and to her immense relief, it was.
Daisy took in the situation with a glance, and began to giggle, quite helplessly. Pearl tried, for one brief moment, to appear affronted, but Daisy’s laughter was far too infectious, and she was forced to join in. “Oh, very well, then,” she finally managed to get out, “I concede that I am hopeless. But,” she added, no longer laughing, but looking up at Daisy, suddenly wistful, “I so do wish there was something I could get right.”
“Oh, my dear,” Daisy said instantly, ashamed immediately of her first reaction, “There’s no-one as is born knowin’ these things. I just wished that you‘d asked me.”
“But I didn’t want to,” Pearl responded quietly at that. “You don’t do for me, Daisy. I don’t want you to do for me.” An unexpected silence fell at that, and Pearl suddenly felt that she was in a situation with no known guidelines, no normal procedures, and, perhaps, no definite boundaries.
But Daisy looked straight back at her, her warm brown eyes regarding Pearl carefully. “I don’t want t’be doin’ for you, neither. But I would’ve helped you.”
*****
Saradoc and Paladin strolled onto the drive leading from the outlying buildings to the main hall and stopped in surprise. Down at the end of the drive, Frodo had just turned away from Esme Brandybuck, and was already heading away from Brandy Hall, with another hobbit they did not recognize at his side. Breaking into a quick trot, Paladin Took ran down the drive, calling out Frodo’s name, with Saradoc Brandybuck at his heels.
“Oh, lad, ‘tis good to see you,” exclaimed Paladin, grasping Frodo firmly by the shoulders as he met up with him. “And Pippin?”
“Came back with me,” Frodo assured him, with a smile. “He’s with his mother right now.”
“Ah, now, Frodo, I thought we could count on you,” Saradoc joined them quickly, a relieved smile on his face. “He certainly did give us a scare. But, where would you be going, now?” Paladin had already left to check on his son when Saradoc suddenly registered the fact that Frodo had been walking away from Brandy Hall, not toward it. “You can’t be leaving like this, you haven’t even eaten with us yet.”
“Well, I really do need to be getting back,” Frodo began, but Saradoc was having none of it.
“Nonsense, my lad. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to be going. I really had no chance to talk to you that much this Yuletide, what with that lot that always shows up here, for no particularly good reason other than to make free with my provisions. Come, you’ll at least stay for dinner tonight, now, won’t you?”
Frodo was silent for a moment, but his wry sense of the potential drama of this situation was proving hard to resist. Besides, he really did want to speak with Merry once more before they left, although he had no idea what he actually had to say to him.
“Thank you, Uncle Sara, I will,” he said finally, but immediately added, “but first let me just have a moment with my friend.”
“Certainly, and of course he‘s invited as well,” Saradoc nodded. “I need to speak with my foreman anyway. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” And he was gone.
Frodo turned to Sam, who had been quietly waiting to the side during this exchange, hoping against hope that he and Frodo would be able to return to the cave where they had spent the previous evening. It was with sinking spirits that he had heard Frodo agree to stay, but he was resolved to hide that from Frodo. But Frodo seemed, as always, to read his heart.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he said softly, turning and taking his hand, no matter that the courtyard was full with the bustle of Brandy Hall. “I really should do this, I think, and not let Aunt Esme run me out.”
Quickly, he gave a glance over his shoulder to where Saradoc was standing near the stables, engrossed in conversation with the foreman of Brandy Hall. He turned back to Sam, and felt Sam’s reassuring return grip, and looked into his warm hazel eyes. “This next bit could get nasty,” he said haltingly, “and I’ll not put you through it. If you go to the servant’s hall, you can eat there, and look for Halstad. Tell him I asked you to stay with him, and I’ll find the two of you as soon as I can.”
Sam nodded, but kept Frodo’s hand firmly in his.
“And Sam,” Frodo swallowed and then added softly, his clear blue eyes searching Sam’s, “I’ll be with you tonight. I promise you that, my dearest. And we’ll leave tomorrow. You have my word on that, too.”
Sam smiled warmly at him, and raised Frodo’s hand, still tightly grasped in his own, to his breast. “Don’t you never let them fret you, Frodo-love,” he murmured, holding Frodo’s gaze. “You are so much finer than they could ever be. Never you forget that, me dear.”
Frodo looked at him for a moment in silence. “I do love you so, Sam,” he whispered, and then, releasing Sam’s hand, followed Saradoc down the drive without a look back. Sam watched him go with a smile.
*****
It was in the apple shed that Pippin found Merry. He had been stretched out on his side upon a bale of straw, hidden in the shadowy back corner, but he looked up as Pippin entered the shed with no surprise whatsoever on his face. “Yes, here I am,” he said flatly. “You always do find me, don’t you.”
Pippin looked down at him. “Well, you could at least let me have a corner. I’ve been walking my legs off lately.”
Merry silently moved his legs slightly to the side, allowing Pippin only the smallest of corners on which to sit, but Pippin plopped himself down and thankfully stretched his legs out.
“I’d offer you an apple,” he commented, looking about the shed, “but it seems as though that would be a little unnecessary. I didn’t finish the bread, though.” From under his jacket, he produced the remains of the heel of bread he had been munching on as they had traveled to Brandy Hall that morning. He tossed it over to Merry, who caught it, gave it an appraising look, and then started to consume it moodily.
“So you’ve been found again,” he at last asked Pippin, rather querulously.
Pippin had produced an apple of his own from his pocket, and was gnawing on it thoughtfully. He looked over at Merry’s question and gave him a brief smile. “Yes,” he answered, turning to stare unseeingly out the door of the shed. “And then you go missing. I’ve promised to bring you back by tea time, you know.”
Merry gave a brief grunt at that, but said no more.
They sat silently together after that until at last, Pippin flung his apple core out the doorway of the shed and said, with a certain edge to his voice, “I suppose we really aren’t free to choose, are we, Merry. Not like Frodo.” Unconsciously, he had pushed himself back on the bale, until he was leaning into Merry’s outstretched legs.
Merry was still silent, but drew his knees up, wrapping himself around Pippin.
“Sometimes, I wish we were just nobodies, and could do what we like,” Pippin continued, still rather mournfully, but tucking himself a bit further into Merry.
Merry gave a reluctant snort of amusement at this. “You will never be a nobody, Pippin Took,” he commented wryly. “I don’t think you’d be capable of that.”
Pippin was curled up by now quite thoroughly against Merry, who had draped an arm casually over Pippin’s shoulder. Silence fell again, but a more comfortable one this time. Merry broke it by saying, very quietly, “I’m sorry, Pippin. For what I said last night. I was upset. It was a pile of rubbish and I didn’t mean a word of it.”
Pippin was still gazing in front of him, through the opening of the shed to the green fields beyond. He smiled at that, but didn’t look back at Merry. “I know, my dear,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”
Merry found himself examining Pippin’s profile as if seeing it anew. The distinctively Tookish sharp features, the coppery curls, the green eyes staring thoughtfully away to the fields, they were all so familiar, and yet they were not. Somehow, Merry realized, Pippin had been growing up. Almost without realizing that he spoke aloud, he said simply, “Frodo was right.”
“He generally is,” Pippin responded easily. Turning his head to Merry, he inquired curiously, “What about this time?”
Merry gave him a smile at that, a warm one. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you.” He swung his legs off the bale then, and stood up to stretch heartily. “I suppose it’s nearly lunch. May as well face the family. If Cook is in good form, perhaps they’ll be distracted.”
But as Pippin also rose, Merry caught him up quickly in a fierce hug. “I‘m glad you always find me,” he said softly as he held Pippin close. Then, releasing Pippin, he strode out into the sunlight. Pippin followed with a smile, for it was definitely a kiss that he had felt on his cheek, before Merry had let him go.
*****
“It’d be the breeze as does it,” Daisy pronounced mildly, as she and Pearl still stared at the drying dresses in the kitchen of Bag End. “That, and the sun. Especially on such a fine day as this’d be.” And indeed, the day outside had become quite warm, a true harbinger of the summer that had nearly arrived. As if coming to a sudden decision, she gathered up the damp clothing and handed one dress to Pearl. “Just wrap it about yourself, they’d be none to see,” she said briskly. “There’s a back field to Bag End, we can be spreadin’ them out there. There’s naught as could be botherin‘ us, don’t be frettin’ about that.”
“Wonderful,” Pearl replied gratefully. “”It’s so much nicer out-of-doors than being cooped up in this kitchen. Here, I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through the doorway to the pantry, and reappeared in no time with a bulging sack. “Cousin Frodo, will clearly have to go to market when he returns,” she announced with a grin. “But fortunately he apparently believes in a well-stocked larder.”
“Ah, that would definitely be Sam,” Daisy laughed, unthinkingly, as they exited out the kitchen door into the nearby garden. “Mr. Frodo would never keep it so well, but Sam now, well, that lad has always had an appetite.”
“Really?” Pearl answered, curious, as she followed Daisy up the path to the back hill. “Frodo and his gardener do appear to be rather close.”
Daisy stopped short, her face suddenly flushed. Gazing unseeingly at the lush green meadow sprinkled with the gold of dandelions that stretched out before them, she softly said, “T’would not be my place to say.”
“As close as all that?” Pearl came up to her side, with a warm smile. “Well seeing as how it’s your brother, I’d say that Frodo is a very lucky hobbit.” And before Daisy could have time to react, Pearl stepped forward, and laying down the dress that she had wrapped about her out on the grass, she twirled impulsively around in the light breeze in her chemise. “Oh, Daisy,” she beamed back at her, ”I can’t tell you how lovely this feels. You really should try it too.”
Daisy only watched her for a moment before years of inhibitions fell away, and dropping the other damp dress quickly upon the grass, she rapidly stripped herself of her own, and in her chemise as well, ran laughing up to Pearl.
Pearl caught up her hand. “Up here,” she said quietly, holding Daisy’s hand tightly, “who our families are really doesn’t matter. Here, it’s just the two of us.”
“Aye,” Daisy breathed, feeling as if a whole world had unexpectedly opened before her amazed eyes. And in the brief moment before Pearl kissed her, she suddenly understood everything Sam had ever told her.
******
It was with a sharp hiss of her breath that Esme Brandybuck registered Frodo’s entrance, along with that of her husband and her brother. But the luncheon table was set, and Cook had prepared a rather extraordinary mushroom tart, and the strawberries were still quite good. So she stifled her comments until the dishes were being removed, and the party withdrew to the front parlor. It was then that she spoke her mind. “Really, Saradoc,” she elegantly draped herself upon the chaise lounge, teacup in hand, “I do not understand in the least why you allow Frodo’s presence here any longer. He is hardly a proper influence on our son.”
Frodo set his teacup down upon the side table and walked towards the door. There really was a limit, and the thought of returning to his beloved Bag End with Sam was beginning to prove irresistible.
But Saradoc moved gracefully but purposefully to the doorway, effectively blocking Frodo’s exit. “Tell me, my dear, what frightful crime has Frodo committed this time?”
Esme glanced carefully at the cup in her hand. “I believe Frodo should be the one to give you that information,” she replied loftily. “I’d just rather that he’d not come into contact with our son any longer.”
Saradoc turned to Frodo with puzzled frown, and Frodo suddenly felt as if he’d had enough of these half-truths, and delicate nuances. “I believe Aunt Esme is referring to the fact that I share my home and my bed with Sam,” he stated bluntly, more than glad to get it out and then just go.
“Sam?” replied Saradoc with a puzzled frown. “Never heard of the fellow.”
“Samwise Gamgee,” Esme pronounced the name as if it were a particularly distasteful species of mold.
Saradoc turned to Frodo with a grin at that. “Can’t say as I know him,” he commented, “but that’d be Hamfast Gamgee’s son, surely? Fine hobbit, the father. Fine indeed. I‘d enjoy meeting his son, that I would.”
Esme rose up at that, in righteous indignation. “Saradoc Brandybuck, you can’t tell me that you’d allow our son to have any contact with such an unhealthy influence as this! I simply can’t believe it.”
“Well, if that bothers you so, why didn’t you have any qualms about shipping Frodo off to Bilbo Baggins, years ago?” Saradoc questioned her sharply.
“Bilbo?” Frodo gasped at that, questions racing through his mind that he had never before considered.
“Bilbo?” he heard Paladin grunt from behind him. “That one always was a puzzle.”
“Well, I had always heard dwarves were what he fancied,” Saradoc answered placidly, turning to his brother-in-law. There was a snort of indignation from Esme at that, as well as a quickly suppressed snicker from Lana, demurely perched on a window seat and sipping her tea.
“Like enough, if he ever had an actual preference,” Paladin chuckled. “I had always understood that he was a hobbit of a rather wide range of experiences.”
Saradoc gave a guffaw at that. “Well of course, there was always the incident of the… Ah, it’s Merry. And Pippin.”
Pleased as he was at his cousins’ appearances, Frodo couldn’t help but feel that their timing was a bit unfortunate.
*****
Frodo had insisted on his old room this time, high in the upper warren of rooms that was Brandy Hall. Esme had felt compelled to mention that though doubtlessly clean, it had not been used much in recent years, and was hardly suitable for the use of guests. But since there was no accounting for the preferences of some, and there had been a particular emphasis on that last phrase on her part, he may as well use it. The question of where Sam was to spend the night was, of course, entirely beneath her notice.
Sam followed Frodo, who was lighting the way by single candlelight, carefully up the winding stairway. Sam had encountered stairs for the first time on their previous visit to Brandy Hall, and was still not too certain about them. But if Frodo was leading them to a room of their own, where they could escape the rest of the inhabitants of this populous place, well then, he was more than glad to follow.
“Not much further, Sam,” Frodo turned back to him, and smiling, stretched out a hand. “At the end of this corridor.” Sam reached out, and grasping Frodo’s hand, followed him around one more turn, and through a plain wooden door that had been left open. “Ah, it hasn’t changed.” Frodo said, with a distant voice, entering the room. “It really hasn’t changed at all.”
Sam followed Frodo into a small room, lit only by candlelight and the moonlight that fell through a large round window that was centered in one wall. There was a bed against the opposite wall, several shelves against the sides of the room, only partially filled with dusty darkly-bound volumes, and a small wardrobe in the back corner, empty, and with its door ajar. Situated directly under the window was a rather sturdy desk and plain chair. Other than the books, there was no attempt at ornamentation, and the room had the distinct air of disuse.
But Frodo looked about with a smile, as if he had returned to a welcome home. “I loved this room,” he said softly, placing the candle in its holder upon the shelves and blowing it out. “Let me show you why.”
Leaning over the desk, he pushed open the window casement, and then climbed on the chair and then onto the desk. Sam watched in silent amazement, as Frodo turned back to him, with a laugh, and said lightly, “I’d better check it out first, Sam. I’ll be right back.” With that, he stepped over to the wide window sill, placed one foot on a ledge directly outside the window, and disappeared from Sam’s sight.
Sam moved fearfully over to the window and looked out, but could see Frodo nowhere. Instead, though, his breath caught in his throat as he beheld the hedge that surrounded this side of Brandy Hall, lying far below in the moonlight. As he backed instinctively away from the window, Frodo reappeared with a breathless laugh. “No-one’s been up here save the pigeons,” he exclaimed. “Throw me that blanket, Sam, there’s the lad.”
Sam turned and spotted one folded at the end of the bed. He tossed it to Frodo, who promptly disappeared again. But before Sam could go back to the window to brave another glance, Frodo had returned, and was standing on the desk again, his hand outstretched, and a wide smile on his face. “Come, Sam, dearest,” he said gently. “Come with me.”
Of course there was no question as to whether Sam would follow. He tried his best to hide his fear, and stepped up onto the desk beside Frodo, who briefly touched his cheek, and lightly kissed him. “It’s worth it, trust me,” he whispered, with shining eyes. As if Sam ever wouldn’t. Watching only Frodo before him, he stepped out onto the ledge as well. “Right here, Sam,” Frodo proceeded him, showing him the ledge on which to step, the stone to grasp. And before Sam could quite realize where they were going, they were on the roof over Brandy Hall, and all of Buckland fell away far below them in the bright moonlight.
This particular section of the Hall had jutted away from the hill, and the thatched roof extended from the sheer face of the rise. It was not a large section of roof, covering no more than Frodo’s room beneath, and had been constructed more for the purpose for drainage, to the sides, than for additional living quarters. But whatever the purpose, it was immaterial to the two that stood there, so far above the courtyards and gardens below.
For the view was everything. Beyond the immediate grounds of the Hall, the tops of the surrounding trees shone darkly in the silvery light, and far off there was a glint and sparkle that could be glimpsed beyond them. With a start, Sam realized that it was the Brandywine he saw. Without words, he sank down on the blanket that Frodo had already spread out on the thatch, and gazed, open-mouthed, at the wondrous sight before him. Frodo sat down beside him, with a pleased smile at Sam’s reaction, and throwing an arm tightly about his shoulders, softly chuckled. “It’s glorious, isn’t it, Sam?” he murmured proudly.
“Aye,” Sam whispered, finding his voice with some difficulty. “Who’d ever know the world’d be this great?”
Frodo gave a happy laugh at that. “Exactly what I always thought,” he exclaimed, warmly. Drawing Sam even more closely to him, with his free hand, he took Sam’s nearest hand into his lap, and interlaced his fingers through Sam’s. “I used to come up here to get away, to think, and to day-dream. No-one ever found me up here, no-one ever thought to look. Only Merry knew where I’d go, and he was always too afraid to follow me. Of course, he was still quite young then.”
Frodo tightened his grip around Sam’s fingers a bit at that, and fell silent, staring off to the west. “I used to dream that I could see the sea from here,” he said at last, very quietly. “I would think I saw it shining silver, very far off. And I thought that someday I might try to find it, for I saw no reason to stay here.” Slowly drawing his hand away from Sam’s at that, he raised it to the side of Sam’s face and gently turned it toward him. “I don’t think that any more, Sam,” he whispered, and Sam raised his mouth up at that and found Frodo’s waiting for him.
The long stressful day became immediately a forgotten memory to Sam as his arms closed around his beloved Frodo, and their mouths sealed in a lingering kiss. When they slowly, at last, broke apart, Sam took up Frodo’s hand in his, and held it, gazing at it as if it were some warm, momentarily stunned bird, ready to fly away at the least touch. “Were you that lonely here, then?” he asked quietly, not looking up at Frodo. “To be thinkin’ of goin’ so far away as all o’that?”
Frodo sighed, leaning his head onto Sam’s shoulder, and stared out again to the moonlit vista before them. “I was,” he murmured. “Uncle Sara means well enough, but he didn’t have much time for children. And Merry was very fond of me, and I loved him dearly, but he was still so much younger. And, well, you’ve met Aunt Esme.”
He was silent for a moment, and then added, almost reluctantly, “Do you know what I used to wish for, up here, Sam?”
Sam’s hands closed gently around Frodo’s, but he said nothing and waited.
“For someone to fall in love with.” Frodo’s voice was very soft now, and his emotions were very clearly quite close to the surface. “And I thought that I would never…, that there never would be anyone. Because I looked so strange, and was far too shy around others, and liked books and things that no-one else did, and because,” here he paused, and tucked his face into Sam’s shoulder.
“And because?” Sam gently prompted, somehow knowing that there was a matter of importance behind this pause.
After a moment, Frodo lifted his head up and set his shoulders. “Because, whenever I dreamed of that someone, I always saw the face of a lad,” he stated quietly. “Never a lass.”
Sam said nothing to this revelation, but bringing Frodo’s hand to his lips, he gently kissed it.
“I don’t suppose that’s the sort of day-dream you ever had, was it, Sam?” Frodo glanced over at him with a slightly wry smile. “Yours must have been full of bonnie lasses and bouncing children, I should think.”
“Aye, they were supposed to have been, at that. Wouldna that be the type of life you’ve ruined for me?” Sam gave him an unexpected sideways smile.
Frodo suddenly felt himself redden slightly, although in the moonlight, no-one ever could have told. “I still can’t help think that, at times,” he admitted, rather sheepishly.
Sam regarded him warmly, reaching a hand out to cup his face. “If that’d have been the life I’d wished for, why then I’d have never come back to Bag End that night you asked me to sleep with you,” he said firmly, searching Frodo’s eyes with his own. “I’d never have kissed you in the kitchen. An’ I’d surely never would’ve stood up to the gaffer, to come live with you at Bag End. There ain’t a thing you’ve ever forced me into, Frodo. So unless you’d be sayin’ I’d be too weak-minded to know as what’d be best for me, it seems as though I’ve pretty much done this to myself.”
And Sam leaned forward at that to kiss Frodo in a way that rather reinforced his inescapable logic about the matter.
“Well,” Frodo protested rather weakly, his arms still on Sam’s shoulders as their mouths broke apart, “I might have a distracting influence on you, you know. You might not have been thinking all that clearly.”
“Oh, aye,” admitted Sam, running a gentle hand through Frodo’s dark curls, and, caressingly, out to his ear tip. “I’d admit to having the hot blood runnin’ through me, and some other part of me thinkin’ stronger than my brains.” His hand came back down the side of Frodo’s face and gently teased the curls at the nape of Frodo’s neck.
Frodo felt an involuntary shudder course through his body at that. Unconsciously, he was kneading Sam’s shoulder through the fabric of his jacket.
“Doesn’t make my choices wrong though, as near as I can tell,” Sam whispered at that, scooting closer to take advantage of brushing the dark locks back from the side of Frodo’s silvered face, and lightly kissing him on the taut skin over the cheekbone.
“Oh, not wrong,” Frodo’s voice came out in nearly a moan, for surely Sam’s tongue had become very clever as it sought out the most sensitive areas of his now exposed ear. Suddenly he felt a rush of emotion, a fervent wave of passion for this gentle and loving hobbit beside him. And he knew that whatever he had dreamed up here, all alone, as a lonely and awkward youth, had never come anywhere close to what he’d been given.
He turned to Sam, cradling his face in his hands, and gazed on the face of the hobbit that he loved with all his heart. Sam’s eyes had closed, and his tanned features were strangely glowing in the blanched light, but his strong hands still cradled Frodo’s head as Frodo bent forward and lightly kissed those shut eyelids. “Oh, Sam,” he breathed, “oh, my own love. You are the greatest gift I’ll ever know.”
And then there was no more time for words as his mouth met Sam’s once again. But now it was his tongue that urgently sought entrance and was willing welcomed by Sam’s. And even as his breath quickened, and his arms tightened around Sam’s shoulders, his mouth melded with Sam’s and joined it as one. Inevitably, he had to finally gasp, and catch his breath, but could not stay away, for nothing he knew had ever been as sweet as Sam’s mouth. It inflamed him, as always, enflamed and engorged him, and they were both wearing entirely too much clothing.
Urgently, his hands slipped under Sam’s jacket, and coaxed it quickly off Sam’s shoulders, and no sooner had he done so, than he felt Sam’s hands under his, performing the same task. And then Sam’s clever fingers were at the buttons of his shirt, and they were undone and it was pushed back off his shoulders, and ah! Sam’s mouth was upon his skin, moving quickly to the crook of his neck, suckling and nipping, and Frodo threw back his head and laughed joyfully.
“Oh, Sam,” he cried, catching his breath. “Maybe we should go back down to the room.”
By now, Sam was trailing kisses down what was revealed by the partially unbuttoned shirt, but he stopped for a moment to growl, “So my fine lady wouldna be appreciatin’ us endin’ up in her petunia bed below?”
Frodo laughed again, feeling gloriously carefree, “Why, Sam!” He buried his nose in the mass of golden curls, just behind Sam’s ear, and gave Sam’s neck a playful nip at that. “Well,” he pronounced with a great attempt at solemnity, “broken legs are so very inconvenient.”
Sam had broken away his exploration of Frodo’s chest in the face of his action, and was now sitting with a leg on either side of Frodo. “But we’d have to be lettin’ go then,” he observed, sliding his hands under Frodo’s open shirt, “and I can’t say as I want to be doin’ that.”
Frodo, sitting back on his heels, leaned into Sam’s caressing touch and moaned softly. “You do have a point, at that,” he gasped, his eyes closing.
Leaning forward, Sam brought his hands around to brush aside the inconvenient shirt, and leaned forward to tease those sensitive dark nubs with his tongue.
“Ah, Sam, we need to go down,” Frodo moaned at that, involuntarily rising up into Sam’s firm grasp.
“Aye, that’d be the idea,” Sam muttered quickly, before tugging Frodo’s shirt off suddenly and flinging it aside. It sailed over the side of the roof, but neither noticed. Sam was far more concerned with Frodo’s trousers, which, curiously enough, were still on him. One hand kept Frodo still firmly in place, while the other worried at the fastening, and all the while Sam’s mouth was busy on that delicious stomach, and Frodo lost all thought of moving from where they were.
Finally the trousers were open, and Frodo gasped a choked wordless cry as Sam’s mouth closed around him. He closed his eyes, and gave himself over entirely to Sam; Sam’s strong hands supporting him from behind, his warm mouth around him, and Sam’s tongue… ah, when had that tongue become so clever? Teasing him, fondling him, stroking him, as his rhythm increased its pace, and his hands dug deeper into Sam’s shoulders, and his breath came out in short harsh pants, and he found himself entirely unable to even say Sam’s name, until, inevitably, he felt the throbbing surge beyond all control, and he burst convulsively into Sam’s waiting mouth.
It wasn’t until he could catch his breath that he sank back down for a moment between Sam’s legs, and laid his head on his shoulder. He could hear Sam’s pleased chuckle, and feel Sam wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace, and felt the sudden rush of passion in his heart for this, the treasure he’d never thought to find, hidden in his cousin’s garden.
Suddenly, he raised his head and, sweeping his arms around Sam, caught him up in a fervent, adoring embrace. “Sam, oh my Sam,” he cried, and gently but insistently pushed Sam back onto the blanket upon which they were sitting. Sam lay back, saying nothing, but raised a hand to the side of Frodo’s face, silvered in the moonlight, and smiled lovingly up at him. “You are mine, Sam,” Frodo whispered, staring down at him, “always mine.” And he bent down, kissing him fiercely.
“Aye,” Sam murmured, his arms flung around Frodo’s neck and his eyes shining with happiness, “always yours, Frodo-love. Always.”
It was fortunate the Mistress of Brandy Hall chose the next morning in which to sleep late. Had she risen earlier, she might have found her nephew’s and his gardener’s jackets draped over the petunias outside of her bedroom window, and Frodo’s shirt cast upon the primrose. However, by the time she rose for her morning tea, they were once again quite properly covering their rightful owners.
To be continued……
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Pleased as he was at his cousins’ appearances, Frodo couldn’t help but feel that their timing was a bit unfortunate.
*laughs* Oh, that was... that was just great.
I liked the chapter over all (there was yum, and there was angst, and I am rather fond of that chapter end), and I'm looking forwards to more.
no subject
You just know Frodo's going to corner Saradoc before he leaves....
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I look forwards to seeing this, then. *grins*
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I'm growing to hate Esmerelda with a passion, to love Pippin more than I ever have, to downright worship Frodo and Sam--and I do believe I actually squealed when Daisy and Pearl (finally!!!) kissed. Saradoc is a positively splendid character, though what he ever saw in Esme I may never know. I'm hoping for a...shall we say more physical?--resolution of Merry and Pippin's situation; though I thank Elbereth Merry finally understands his own heart, because if he'd gone on thinking he loved Frodo (and thereby hating Sam) any longer I was going to have to smack some sense into him myself. ;)
Frodo and Sam...what can I even say? No one writes them better than you. They are equals in every way--not the least in their devotion to one another. There was something so wonderfully poignant about the stay in Frodo's old room--particularly the consumation in the very spot Frodo spent dreaming of finding 'someone to love.' If only we were all so lucky in finding our 'Sam.' For all that Frodo was rejected in Brandy Hall, I've no doubt Sam will make good on his promise to compensate him for it 'a thousand times over.'
This is...well, par for the course, so marvelous in every way possible. I can't wait for the next installment!
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OK, I can say don't hold your breath on the physical M/P this time around (Pippin is really still awfully young) but at least Merry's eyes have been opened. And Esme? Well, she is rather willful, but she can probably do charming if she puts her mind to it. Plus there was possibly some family pressure there - unite the two major families and all. And Daisy/Pearl? Well, we shall see.
And of course F/S? Thanks especially on this, for I really do see them as equals, actually, complements of each other. And that although they each can function fine on their own, together, they are exactly what each other needs. So not only was Frodo lucky to find his Sam, but Sam was lucky to recognize that it was Frodo whom he needed.
So thank you very much again, and hope you continue to enjoy it.
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LoL Actually, I'm not usually that huge a M/P fan. But I like the way you've written them. And I suppose by 'physical' what I really meant was spoken agreement about the way their relationship might someday go. But this is really enough; they sort of understand without really needing to say it.
Can I hope for a reconcilliation between Sam and Merry? :)
Sam, indeed, was lucky to find his Frodo--they both were lucky to find each other, though I doubt it could have turned out any other way. :)
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And he knew that whatever he had dreamed up here, all alone, as a lonely and awkward youth, had never come anywhere close to what he’d been given.
Hobbits in love...*sighs wistfully* ...they do say the sweetest things.
Lucky flower beds. *scowls*
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Yes, hobbits in love are the best kind of hobbitsess. I think it's just their natural state.
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You managed to describe your caracthers in such a realistic way!
I do adore your Pippin and, in my opinion, Sam and Frodo on the roof were just amazing!
A great way to begin my Sunday!
Thank you!
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And I'm pretty fond of the Pippin, myself. Merry starting to come around too, though.
And of course, F/S, well....
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“Aye, that’d be the idea,” Sam muttered quickly
Eeeee hee hee! Great one-liners scattered about, and yay! femslash too.
But Frodo and Sam are the heart and soul of this series, and what a heart, what a soul. Of course a blow job on the roof is wonderful slashy fun, but I was entranced too by your description of the roof and what it meant to Frodo to sit up there and look for the sea in his lonely childhood. It seems like such a completion for him to make love with Sam there, and Sam was not just being kinky, but perceptive about Frodo's needs, when he insisted that they continue there. Thanks so much for this.
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Thank you so much. I've always felt that since Sam, especially initially, is rather of a quiet onlooker, that he grows up to be deceptively perceptive, a quality that Frodo seems to pick up on in LOTR. So, here, he did realize what Frodo really needed, other than just the obvious.
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Aie, the plotting. It hurts.
And, um, found anything for that other one? *bats eyes hopefully*
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Actually, the bunny bit me at work, and I can't tell you hard it was to be explaining congruent triangles and the causes of the Cold War to kids when I REALLY wanted to write. Argh.
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http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/sam2.jpg
http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/sam4.jpg
http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/sam7.jpg
Multiple Samses